ACT V - Scene I

Is she to be buried in Christian burial when she wilfully seeks her own salvation?

OTHER

I tell thee she is; therefore make her grave straight. The crowner hath sate on her, and finds it Christian burial.

CLOWN

How can that be, unless she drown'd herself in her own defence?

OTHER

Why, 'tis found so.

CLOWN

It must be se offendendo; it cannot be else. For here lies the point: if I drown myself wittingly, it argues an act; and an act hath three branches-it is to act, to do, and to perform; argal, she drown'd herself wittingly.

OTHER

Nay, but hear you, Goodman Delver!

CLOWN

Give me leave. Here lies the water; good. Here stands the man; good. If the man go to this water and drown himself, it is, will he nill he, he goes- mark you that. But if the water come to him and drown him, he drowns not himself. Argal, he that is not guilty of his own death shortens not his own life.

OTHER

But is this law?

CLOWN

Ay, marry, is't- crowner's quest law.

OTHER

Will you ha' the truth an't? If this had not been a gentlewoman, she should have been buried out o' Christian burial.

CLOWN

Why, there thou say'st! And the more pity that great folk should have count'nance in this world to drown or hang themselves more than their even-Christian. Come, my spade! There is no ancient gentlemen but gard'ners, ditchers, and grave-makers. They hold up Adam's profession.

OTHER

Was he a gentleman?

CLOWN

'A was the first that ever bore arms.

OTHER

Why, he had none.

CLOWN

What, art a heathen? How dost thou understand the Scripture? The Scripture says Adam digg'd. Could he dig without arms? I'll put another question to thee. If thou answerest me not to the purpose, confess thyself-

OTHER

Go to!

CLOWN

What is he that builds stronger than either the mason, the shipwright, or the carpenter?

OTHER

The gallows-maker; for that frame outlives a thousand tenants.

CLOWN

I like thy wit well, in good faith. The gallows does well. But how does it well? It does well to those that do ill. Now, thou dost ill to say the gallows is built stronger than the church. Argal, the gallows may do well to thee. To't again, come!

OTHER

Who builds stronger than a mason, a shipwright, or a carpenter?

CLOWN

Ay, tell me that, and unyoke.

OTHER

Marry, now I can tell!

CLOWN

To't.

OTHER

Mass, I cannot tell.

Enter Hamlet and Horatio afar off.

CLOWN

Cudgel thy brains no more about it, for your dull ass will not mend his pace with beating; and when you are ask'd this question next, say 'a grave-maker.' The houses he makes lasts till doomsday. Go, get thee to Yaughan; fetch me a stoup of liquor.

[Exit Second Clown.]

[Clown digs and] sings.

In youth when I did love, did love, Methought it was very sweet; To contract- O- the time for- a- my behove, O, methought there- a- was nothing- a- meet.

HAMLET

Has this fellow no feeling of his business, that he sings at grave-making?

HORATIO

Custom hath made it in him a property of easiness.

HAMLET

'Tis e'en so. The hand of little employment hath the daintier sense.

CLOWN

(sings) But age with his stealing steps Hath clawed me in his clutch, And hath shipped me intil the land, As if I had never been such.

[Throws up a skull.]

HAMLET

That skull had a tongue in it, and could sing once. How the knave jowls it to the ground,as if 'twere Cain's jawbone, that did the first murther! This might be the pate of a Politician, which this ass now o'erreaches; one that would circumvent God, might it not?

HORATIO

It might, my lord.

HAMLET

Or of a courtier, which could say 'Good morrow, sweet lord! How dost thou, good lord?' This might be my Lord Such-a-one, that prais'd my Lord Such-a-one's horse when he meant to beg it- might it not?

HORATIO

Ay, my lord.

HAMLET

Why, e'en so! and now my Lady Worm's, chapless, and knock'd about the mazzard with a sexton's spade. Here's fine revolution, and we had the trick to see't. Did these bones cost no more the breeding but to play at loggets with 'em? Mine ache to think on't.

CLOWN

(Sings) A pickaxe and a spade, a spade, For and a shrouding sheet; O, a Pit of clay for to be made For such a guest is meet.

Throws up [another skull].

HAMLET

There's another. Why may not that be the skull of a lawyer? Where be his quiddits now, his quillets, his cases, his tenures, and his tricks? Why does he suffer this rude knave now to knock him about the sconce with a dirty shovel, and will not tell him of his action of battery? Hum! This fellow might be in's time a great buyer of land, with his statutes, his recognizances, his fines, his double vouchers, his recoveries. Is this the fine of his fines, and the recovery of his recoveries, to have his fine pate full of fine dirt? Will his vouchers vouch him no more of his purchases, and double ones too, than the length and breadth of a pair of indentures? The very conveyances of his lands will scarcely lie in this box; and must th' inheritor himself have no more, ha?

HORATIO

Not a jot more, my lord.

HAMLET

Is not parchment made of sheepskins?

HORATIO

Ay, my lord, And of calveskins too.

HAMLET

They are sheep and calves which seek out assurance in that. I will speak to this fellow. Whose grave's this, sirrah?

CLOWN

Mine, sir.

[Sings] O, a pit of clay for to be made For such a guest is meet.

HAMLET

I think it be thine indeed, for thou liest in't.

CLOWN

You lie out on't, sir, and therefore 'tis not yours. For my part, I do not lie in't, yet it is mine.

HAMLET

Thou dost lie in't, to be in't and say it is thine. 'Tis for the dead, not for the quick; therefore thou liest.

CLOWN

'Tis a quick lie, sir; 'twill away again from me to you.

HAMLET

What man dost thou dig it for?

CLOWN

For no man, sir.

HAMLET

What woman then?

CLOWN

For none neither.

HAMLET

Who is to be buried in't?

CLOWN

One that was a woman, sir; but, rest her soul, she's dead.

HAMLET

How absolute the knave is! We must speak by the card, or equivocation will undo us. By the Lord, Horatio, this three years I have taken note of it, the age is grown so picked that the toe of the peasant comes so near the heel of the courtier he galls his kibe.- How long hast thou been a grave-maker?

CLOWN

Of all the days i' th' year, I came to't that day that our last king Hamlet overcame Fortinbras.

HAMLET

How long is that since?

CLOWN

Cannot you tell that? Every fool can tell that. It was the very day that young Hamlet was born- he that is mad, and sent into England.

HAMLET

Ay, marry, why was be sent into England?

CLOWN

Why, because 'a was mad. 'A shall recover his wits there; or, if 'a do not, 'tis no great matter there.

HAMLET

Why?

CLOWN

'Twill not he seen in him there. There the men are as mad as he.

HAMLET

How came he mad?

CLOWN

Very strangely, they say.

HAMLET

How strangely?

CLOWN

Faith, e'en with losing his wits.

HAMLET

Upon what ground?

CLOWN

Why, here in Denmark. I have been sexton here, man and boy thirty years.

HAMLET

How long will a man lie i' th' earth ere he rot?

CLOWN

Faith, if 'a be not rotten before 'a die (as we have many pocky corses now-a-days that will scarce hold the laying in, I will last you some eight year or nine year. A tanner will last you nine year.

HAMLET

Why he more than another?

CLOWN

Why, sir, his hide is so tann'd with his trade that 'a will keep out water a great while; and your water is a sore decayer of your whoreson dead body. Here's a skull now. This skull hath lien you i' th' earth three-and-twenty years.

HAMLET

Whose was it?

CLOWN

A whoreson, mad fellow's it was. Whose do you think it was?

HAMLET

Nay, I know not.

CLOWN

A pestilence on him for a mad rogue! 'A pour'd a flagon of Rhenish on my head once. This same skull, sir, was Yorick's skull, the King's jester.

HAMLET

This?

CLOWN

E'en that.

HAMLET

Let me see. [Takes the skull.] Alas, poor Yorick! I knew him,

HORATIO

A fellow of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy. He hath borne me on his back a thousand times. And now how abhorred in my imagination it is! My gorge rises at it. Here hung those lips that I have kiss'd I know not how oft. Where be your gibes now? your gambols? your songs? your flashes of merriment that were wont to set the table on a roar? Not one now, to mock your own grinning? Quite chap- fall'n? Now get you to my lady's chamber, and tell her, let her paint an inch thick, to this favour she must come. Make her laugh at that. Prithee, Horatio, tell me one thing.

HORATIO

What's that, my lord?

HAMLET

Dost thou think Alexander look'd o' this fashion i' th' earth?

HORATIO

E'en so.

HAMLET

And smelt so? Pah!

[Puts down the skull.]

HORATIO

E'en so, my lord.

HAMLET

To what base uses we may return, Horatio! Why may not imagination trace the noble dust of Alexander till he find it stopping a bunghole?

HORATIO

'Twere to consider too curiously, to consider so.

HAMLET

No, faith, not a jot; but to follow him thither with modesty enough, and likelihood to lead it; as thus: Alexander died, Alexander was buried, Alexander returneth into dust; the dust is earth; of earth we make loam; and why of that loam (whereto he was converted) might they not stop a beer barrel? Imperious Caesar, dead and turn'd to clay, Might stop a hole to keep the wind away. O, that that earth which kept the world in awe Should patch a wall t' expel the winter's flaw! But soft! but soft! aside! Here comes the King-

The Queen, the courtiers. Who is this they follow? And with such maimed rites? This doth betoken The corse they follow did with desp'rate hand Fordo it own life. 'Twas of some estate. Couch we awhile, and mark.

[Retires with Horatio.]

LAERTES

What ceremony else?

HAMLET

That is Laertes, A very noble youth. Mark.

LAERTES

What ceremony else?

PRIEST

Her obsequies have been as far enlarg'd As we have warranty. Her death was doubtful; And, but that great command o'ersways the order, She should in ground unsanctified have lodg'd Till the last trumpet. For charitable prayers, Shards, flints, and pebbles should be thrown on her. Yet here she is allow'd her virgin rites, Her maiden strewments, and the bringing home Of bell and burial.

LAERTES

Must there no more be done?

PRIEST

No more be done. We should profane the service of the dead To sing a requiem and such rest to her As to peace-parted souls.

LAERTES

Lay her i' th' earth; And from her fair and unpolluted flesh May violets spring! I tell thee, churlish priest, A minist'ring angel shall my sister be When thou liest howling.

HAMLET

What, the fair Ophelia?

QUEEN

Sweets to the sweet! Farewell.

[Scatters flowers.]

I hop'd thou shouldst have been my Hamlet's wife; I thought thy bride-bed to have deck'd, sweet maid, And not have strew'd thy grave.

LAERTES

O, treble woe Fall ten times treble on that cursed head Whose wicked deed thy most ingenious sense Depriv'd thee of! Hold off the earth awhile, Till I have caught her once more in mine arms.

Leaps in the grave.

Now pile your dust upon the quick and dead Till of this flat a mountain you have made T' o'ertop old Pelion or the skyish head Of blue Olympus.

HAMLET

[comes forward] What is he whose grief Bears such an emphasis? whose phrase of sorrow Conjures the wand'ring stars, and makes them stand Like wonder-wounded hearers? This is I, Hamlet the Dane.

[Leaps in after Laertes.]

LAERTES

The devil take thy soul!

[Grapples with him].

HAMLET

Thou pray'st not well. I prithee take thy fingers from my throat; For, though I am not splenitive and rash, Yet have I in me something dangerous, Which let thy wisdom fear. Hold off thy hand!

KING

Pluck them asunder.

QUEEN

Hamlet, Hamlet!

ALL

Gentlemen!

HORATIO

Good my lord, be quiet.

[The Attendants part them, and they come out of the grave.]

HAMLET

Why, I will fight with him upon this theme Until my eyelids will no longer wag.

QUEEN

O my son, what theme?

HAMLET

I lov'd Ophelia. Forty thousand brothers Could not (with all their quantity of love) Make up my sum. What wilt thou do for her?

KING

O, he is mad, Laertes.

QUEEN

For love of God, forbear him!

HAMLET

'Swounds, show me what thou't do. Woo't weep? woo't fight? woo't fast? woo't tear thyself? Woo't drink up esill? eat a crocodile? I'll do't. Dost thou come here to whine? To outface me with leaping in her grave? Be buried quick with her, and so will I. And if thou prate of mountains, let them throw Millions of acres on us, till our ground, Singeing his pate against the burning zone, Make Ossa like a wart! Nay, an thou'lt mouth, I'll rant as well as thou.

QUEEN

This is mere madness; And thus a while the fit will work on him. Anon, as patient as the female dove When that her golden couplets are disclos'd, His silence will sit drooping.

HAMLET

Hear you, sir! What is the reason that you use me thus? I lov'd you ever. But it is no matter. Let Hercules himself do what he may, The cat will mew, and dog will have his day.

Exit.

KING

I pray thee, good Horatio, wait upon him.

Exit Horatio.

[To Laertes] Strengthen your patience in our last night's speech. We'll put the matter to the present push.- Good Gertrude, set some watch over your son.- This grave shall have a living monument. An hour of quiet shortly shall we see; Till then in patience our proceeding be.